


The Eagle and Her Hound

by akspick



Category: The Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff, The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Genderbending, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:56:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5725435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akspick/pseuds/akspick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Roman women fight alongside their men, after all an Empire that uses only half its resources conquers half as much, Marcia Flavia Aquilia finds she has met her match in her new male British slave, Esca. After all opposites attract, and in the end they are not so different as they might think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eagle and Her Hound

**Author's Note:**

> We know Rome had birth control, a natural grown plant that worked so well it was used to extinction. So why keep women as locked up as they did, if there was no need to worry about bloodlines being kept pure? Let’s say they inherited a little more from Sparta as well, all goes to the state, hence we get woman warriors. Marcus means dedicated to war so would a man who named his only son to be a soldier do any differently to his daughter in such a society, especially if she were his only child?

Esca’s first impression of his new mistress outside of a blurry form in the arena is that she is tall. It looks as if they are exactly of a height, although where he is lithe and skinny she is wide and broad, and probably outweighs him. That is not to say she looks like a man, despite her short cropped hair, she is clearly a woman, with very generous curves, and from where she leans forward to speak with her uncle they are outlined perfectly in her linen tunic. Esca drags his eyes away quickly, he’s not looking, but he has no desire to be accused of even glancing.

It’s just the muscles on her arms are as clearly sculpted as her hips. If it weren’t for the way she depends on her stick like an old crone he would think her a warrior goddess bringing death and love in equal measure. Strong enough for the fight and hence to give birth, to strong children, she is the ideal Roman woman, right down to the scorn in her eyes when she looks at him, dismissing him.

Esca dismisses her right back. He has no desire to serve a Roman, especially one of their unnatural woman at that. Woman have their own powers and must be respected, true, but they do not belong on the battlefield. Still he kneels at her feet and declares his allegiance to her. This Marcia Flavia Aquilia, eagle of war, did save his life after all. Still that night when Esca sleeps on a pallet outside her door his mind briefly flutters over the softer lines of her hard body that he glimpsed as he pulled off her tunic for bed before instantly turning them out of his mind.

Later he admires her courage when she doesn’t cry out, as the knife slices into her flesh, gouging out the last of the chariot that felled her, nor does he tell her about the bruises she left on his arm from gripping so tight, when she asks if she shamed herself. He also stays diligently at her side as she recovers. Sitting at her feet, he finds that she has a pleasant singing voice, and she does do some womanly things. Her weaving is beautiful, and out of boredom she does quite a lot of it, including winter cloaks for the whole household, although she doesn’t really enjoy it. Her temper is fierce although not mercurial, and after she grows frustrated enough at her weaving, when her uncle is not available, Esca plays board games with her. Esca enjoys this more then he will admit; Marcia will shriek at her weaving, and he will steady her as she launches to her feet, forgetting her injury momentarily, becoming even more frustrated at this, before he leads her to the game board.

Esca finds oddly enough that he has much free time as well, as when Marcia sits and recovers, he sits with her so as to fetch and carry in the remote chance she might need things; however she is fiercely independent, and she hates to be behooved especially to a man, even a slave, and so she rarely does. Often he is forced to intervene, catching her before she falls.

He teaches her some British, or at least his dialect of British; there are many languages farther north. They mostly use British as a sort of secret code for gossip. It turns out that Roman woman, despite the fact that they all carry knives, and wear braccae instead of the men, gossip just as much as British woman do. It works to Marcia’s advantage not only to have private conversations with Esca in public, but for her fellow woman to talk freely in front of a slave they think does not speak Latin. Esca finds it infinitely amusing when Marcia’s face scrunches up indignantly at what so and so said about her. For all Marcia’s ideals about honor and duty she could be remarkably petty.

Once Marcia is recovered Esca finds hunting with a woman a very odd experience, at first, and then he finds it exhilarating. Marcia and Esca can hunt together as if they’ve been doing it all their lives. They move in perfect tandem, although it galls Esca that Marcia, a woman, always gets the final shot. Furthermore although Marcia has to stand on her own bloody two feet for everything else, Esca still has to butcher the game, yet more often then not he finds himself grinning like an idiot as they gallop through the light pines. Sometimes it feels as if he can almost read Marcia’s thoughts, they ride so well together.

It doesn’t hurt that at the end of every hunt when he butchers the catch near the river, Marcia strips free of her clothes and dives in upstream. He tries hard not to look, but she is stunning, and so utterly exotic, her olive skin dripping with water, her dark brown hair running soaked down her back, having grown longer in her convalescence. He knows Marcia sees him watching, although he is careful, yet she never says anything about it. Until one day she does.

She sits dripping and still naked besides him, knees curled into her chest, she is watching the river so she surprises him when she speaks.

“I don’t mind you know? If you look.” Esca nearly cuts himself in shock.

“Mistress, I would never-“ She sighs in annoyance.

“Esca don’t lie. It’s a comfort to know any man, even if he is a slave, and a British savage at that still finds me attractive.” Esca pushes down his annoyance at the insult of savage Marcia doesn’t even know she’s given, after all it’s the Romans who are savage sending woman to war, and he endures a dozen similar indignities a day, and waits for what else she has to say. “Why else do you think I’m still living at my Uncle’s home? Even with this-“ she taps the honor on her wrist, “I’m still a cripple, and what man wants a cripple for his wife? She cannot march with him, she cannot defend his children. Soon I will be even too old to have children. I know no trade but soldiering, and because of my stupid father and his dishonor I can’t even marry a politician. Bah.” She spits and surges to her feet, stomping back to the horses and her clothes.

Esca makes no move to follow, he knows Marcia doesn’t want him to. Truly he is the servant of a unique Mistress, she does not cry or weep like the woman at home, her grief makes her angry, makes her strong he thinks absently, why would no Roman man see this? This father of hers, she’s mentioned him before, he must have done something truly terrible. Then Marcia orders him back to the horses disrupting his train of thought.

She watches him absently as he ties the boar they killed to his saddle.

“I’m sorry.” She mutters to where her hands play with his father’s knife.

“For what?” he asks surprised.

“That you have such a useless mistress. You’re probably going to be stuck serving a spinster on this pitiful estate for the rest of your life. A man as honorable and brave as yourself should have some one worthy to wield this dagger in battle.”

“I’m glad you don’t wield that dagger against my kin.” Esca finishes a final knot and moves to stand in front of his Mistress; clasping her hand to touch the honor on her arm. “This more then proves your worthiness in battle, and I am happy to stay on this estate, for the rest of my service, it is in Britain. If I were to have a mistress as you describe then she and her daring but apparently shallow husband would drag me far from the only thing I have left. Anyone who cannot see your honor and beauty is a fool Marcia.” It is the first time Esca has used her name, without a title, and she glances up sharply, but is shocked at the honesty she sees in his eyes, and something else as well. Marcia freezes for a moment, before quickly withdrawing her hand from where she had suddenly realized it was still clasped in Esca’s. She clears her throat nervously, before reaching up to grip Esca’s upper arm, as if he were one of her soldiers.

“Thank you, Esca.” And there is something there for a moment as they stare into each other’s eyes, before Esca nods his welcome and they are off.

Uncle Aquila is in a tizzy when they return home.

“At least you’ve had a bath.” He mutters at her wet but tangled hair. Then he sniffs, and sighs, “In the river. Of course.” Then they are off, Uncle Aquila muttering something about guests and dinner, and ordering Esca to make Marcia presentable.

Esca is completely lost, not once in the entire time he’s been here has Esca seen Marcia use the pots of paint on her low table. After the fourth time he pulls at her hair, she orders him to go sit. He watches as she transforms from a sunburnt huntress to one of the elegant ladies he has seen leaving the bath houses in town. Eyes painted to look fierce, lips rogued, hair bound up, although not in curls as they don’t have time, but intricate braids. Elegantly woven braccae, as Romans find braccae emasculating. Esca can understand this, even though his culture finds otherwise, best to let things hang free. A thigh lank tunic with many folds goes over this, one Esca had watched Marcia make weeks ago. She belts it both under her breasts and around her waist, outlining her substantial form, even though it is loose and fine fabric. Its bright color warming her olive skin, although Esca finds it rather plain compared to his own people’s checkered cloth.

He watches her fingers hesitate over which knife to chose to strap to her lower belt before clasping Esca’s knife. Something in Esca’s middle both clenches and flutters at that. Finally she turns to him, smoothing her hands nervously across her thighs.

“Presentable?”

“Beautiful.” Esca replies and means it.

It isn’t until Esca is serving dinner that he realizes why she needed to be presentable, the young man across the table is a potential husband. He watches the man’s clumsy attempts to flirt, honestly, ‘haven’t I met you before’ oldest line there is, he half winces half snarls at Marcia’s even lousier giggled reply about only being a centurion. Why would Marcia even vaguely want this man, if he wants a wife weaker then him? He’s so shocked at that thought, that he doesn’t want a wife weaker then him that he almost doesn’t hear as the truth about Marcia’s father comes spilling out. Then he’s even more shocked, she is the daughter of one of them. Of course he knew she was Roman, but it means so much more now, she is of the people who would conquer and kill, she is not- he pauses, not what? He shys away from what he wants to say, and goes back to listening as the argument gets more heated.

Later Esca stands in his shadowy corner and listens. Uncle Aquila has long ago made his peace with the Aquila family name, and he is as close to mad as he can be, Marcia had ruined perhaps her last chance at a good marriage. Yet Uncle Aquila listens as Marcia outlines her mad plan, to travel north with Esca. Esca just stands watching trying to keep his growing fury down. Yet he has sworn, and so he will do.

Marcia relies on him from the very first moment they set out even asking what to pack. Although she still slaps his hands away when he tries to actually physically help packing, it is a far cry from a girl who refused to even accept help when in serious pain. Esca is also surprised when she takes the nicer of the two blanket cloaks and smooth’s it over his shoulders. It had taken her months to work on it, and the embroidery is particularly fine, she had even asked him about Briganties symbols- he jerks up to look at her at his realization.

She merely smiles, “You don’t have enough nice things.” Esca knows it is much more than that, and he knows Marcia knows. Yet he’s still angry with her, for what he doesn’t know, this whole stupid plan maybe, so he doesn’t return the smile, merely nods and goes to pack the rest on to the horses.

They pause only briefly before pushing past the wall. Esca doesn’t know what to feel as they pass under the gate. It’s not home, and his grief will never fully lift, but it is as if something falls off his shoulders. From the way Marcia’s face pales he can only assume it’s fallen onto hers.

They speak little on the trip north. Esca insists, politely he thinks, they speak mostly in British, and while Marcia scowls at him giving orders, she understands, and for the most part obeys. After all she did ask for his help. Furthermore there is little to say. What does slip out when they speak late at night in Latin around the campfire is deeply personal.

Esca isn’t sure why he shares the death of his parents with Marcia, but it seems important. Marcia nods like she understand but he doesn’t think she does. After all where she comes from woman fight, and he knows she would not stop her soldiers from rape. Still it is important.

Later when they fight the rogue warriors, he almost regrets sharing his past. At first it’s like they’re hunting again, they work in such perfect tandem, but then his body almost rebels against him when she kills the child. He almost runs forward to stop her as she calmly kneels and slits the boys throat, how could a woman kill a child like that, before he remembers his oath. Later when she clasps his upper arm in faintly shaking fingers before going to re saddle the horses, and runs her eyes up and down to check for injuries he thinks he understands. She is a woman and they defend their own. Marcia might not understand exactly why Esca’s father did what he did to his mother, but she understands in her own way.

Esca grows more bold the further north they go. Marcia chafes a little under his direction but understands. Woman are different North of the Wall, and even if she does speak a little of Esca’s tongue, it is better if he does all the talking. However she grows impatient quickly, and as usual her temper gets the better of her, and they eventually find Guern, and their way to the killing fields.

Marcia is the one to push Esca off his horse, after all Esca wouldn’t hit a girl, but they are both rolling and falling into the gully, and it is Esca who ends up on top. They freeze, eyes locked, Esca can feel Marcia’s hot breath on his cheeck. In one second he notices the freckles on her nose, the pulse thumping in her throat, the way her breasts press against his tunic, and the way her thick eyelashes brush just so. Then he kisses her. It is less a kiss and more of a claiming, he plunders her mouth, pressing hard, pinning her to the earth. Except she is pressing right back. Her hands slip just as much around him, as his slip into her unbound hair. That is until he feels that particular sixth sense tickling on the back of his neck.

Esca is up in an instant, Marcia crouched at his back. His hand stays on her shoulder keeping her down, although both have their hands on the knives in their respective belts.

“Esca” Marcia mutters, but she hushes as Esca squeezes her shoulder and speaks with the seal prince. Suddenly the Seal prince lurches forward, jerking up her chin. She hears the word Roman many times, but can’t make out much else, they are too far north, the accent is too thick, and they speak too quickly. Then she hears the word slave, and her blood freezes in her veins. She’s on her feet in an instance, knife drawn, but they are too quick for her. Before she can blink they have hands behind her back, and an axe handle at her throat, cutting off air. Esca does nothing, his face is as cold as ice, just staring. She calls his name several times, but it is not until she practically shrieks it that he turns back towards her.

“Follow along or we will both be killed.” She’s furious Esca can tell, and it pains him to simply turn from her like that, it takes every ounce of his strength not turn back and try to calm her. Every time her bad leg gives out and she trips over the heather, tied to her own damn horse, he feels like screaming. He almost loses it when one warrior makes a particularly pointed comment about her ass, but he manages to remain still as stone. He ignored a thousand indignities as a slave, he can ignore a few more that are not even directed at his person. Yet somehow when that person is Marcia it is a thousand times worse.

When Marcia is finally dragged before the Seal Chief, she’s almost trembling from exhaustion. Esca won’t look at her, even though they stand shoulder to shoulder, although her hands are finally unbound and the warriors have stopped grappling her. She hears something about food, and everyone laughs, except Esca, Esca remains stone faced. Then Esca moves forward, away, and they grab her arms again. Her anger is almost gone, beaten down by the stumbling march, and panic is beginning to replace it.

“Esca! What’s happening?” she hisses.

“You’re my slave.” and the bottom drops out of her world, and she’s dragged away.

They throw her, literally, into a tent with some other woman. She scooches back quickly, frightened, against the dirt floor. The women are bedraggled, and filthy, they scare her with their poverty, until she realizes she looks just like them. The thought terrifies her so much she almost pukes. Is this is what she is to become, a flea ridden withered lump, serving a traitorous master, a master who is supposed to be a slave? No Esca won’t, Esca wouldn’t.

She manages to calm herself, and derail that panic train of thought when the crone minding the cook pot motions her forward. She goes gingerly, trying to pull back the piece of her shirt that had ripped when she fell and was dragged, with frozen trembling fingers. The entirety of her aches.

With slow soothing movements, the crone hands her a bowl of something. Marcia doesn’t really care what it is but it is warm. After she is finished she thanks the crone with the British Esca had taught her. One of the woman’s eyebrows rises in surprise.

“You speak the southern tongue, young one?” she mutters softly with a southern accent; gently cupping Marcia’s bruised face, and beginning to wash off the blood with slow soothing movements, her eyes crinkling in concern.

“A little.” The woman’s eyes are so kind, Marcia almost feels like crying, but she doesn’t. Instead she lowers her head so she can’t see them, leaning into the woman’s touch. It’s been a long time since her mother died.

“So you were not taken from the southern tribes, as I was?” The woman’s voice is soft as if talking to a wounded animal.  
“No. Roman.” Marcia’s voice is equally soft, but hers with exhaustion. She refuses to even consider that she will live out the rest of her days like this woman, separated from her people, to grow old and beaten down by the elements.

“How did you come to learn it?”

“Esca, he teach.”

“Esca, the guest? Is he your Master little one?”

“I, No-, I mean, I don’t-, I can’t. He-, I-“ at the end she has trailed off into Latin, and there are one or two silent slow tears dripping down her cheeks.

“Hush little one. You’ve come a long way.” The woman’s deceptively weak looking arms ease Marcia’s bruised body gently to the ground, gripping firmly, before one of her withered hands goes to brush along Marcia’s tangled hair. “Sleep now.” And so Marcia does.

The first week they stay in the village, everyone stares at Marcia, in every task that she does. She hardly sees Esca, and he never meets her eyes. Every order she gets comes from one of the other slave woman, some of whom aren’t very kind to her either. They like Romans as little as all the other Britains.

The closest she gets to Esca in weeks is when she’s dragged into a feast, where woman aren’t normally allowed to go, to be shown off. She sees Esca speaking to a little boy. The thought that he was always kind to children absently crosses her mind before she’s shoved to her knees and her chin lifted to show off her chin strap scar. Then she’s shoved into a cold corner, where she huddles, and watches Esca speak seriously with the chief and his son. She hates how at home he looks, and how he still won’t look at her.

Later when Esca leaves, she is dragged with him. She keeps her eyes on the ground at the cat calls and whistles that follow. It is very obvious what everyone thinks they are about to do.

Instead he simply leads her to the tent he has been given, and nods to the bedroll. He shushes her when she starts to ask what is going on.

“Just sleep. Now is not the time.” She grumbles silently but does as asked. He still won’t look at her. ‘Good’ she thinks to herself, a little of the old anger building up, ‘feel guilty’. Yet she finds herself sleeping more peacefully then she has in a long time, curled up against Esca’s side as she is.

Winter is quickly closing in. Marcia wonders at her own foolishness, that she thought they would find the eagle so quickly they didn’t have to worry about its harshness. She’s half terrified of winter; it will trap her here like nothing else. Yet she makes no move to escape, part of her knows they would catch her in an instant, and well she can’t leave Esca. After the night of the feast she has been sleeping at his side every night, and although he has made no move to indicate he hasn’t betrayed her, some how she can’t leave him. She also ruthlessly suppresses the thrill in her blood at the thought of Esca catching her.

Everything seems to be going fine, or as fine as things can be, until the day at the beach. Marcia prefers to keep at least a little bit separate from the other woman. None except some of the other slaves are kind to her, and they not very much. Often the women of the tribe spit at her, not only is she a Roman woman, and with the way Roman woman act unnatural, but she is also a slut, and stealing a potential mate. Unsurprisingly her slowly improving vocabulary of the northern dialect includes mostly insults.

She employs many of these successfully when she is sitting up apart on the hill from the beach, and a seal warrior returning from the hunt accosts her. She also employs the knife she is using to gut fish quite successfully as well, and the warrior has a large slash across his face, when she is yanked off by other returning warriors.

She is pulled back hissing and spitting in a mixture of all the languages she knows, and the knife forced out of hand, by the time Esca and the seal prince arrive.

Esca looks at the situation at hand with a sinking heart. He’d hoped to avoid this situation by taking Marcia into his bed, but it seemed she as usual had only gone and made things worse with her stupid pride. As soon as he arrives, Marcia is released, and she instantly runs to stand beside him, eyes narrowing at the bleeding warrior. He thinks he hears her call the man a bleeding pustule on a pig’s backside in greek but he isn’t entirely positive.

“Your slave struck me, I demand reparation.” The warrior hisses, knife in one hand the other clutching his cheek. Esca’s heart drops to the ground, he knows what the usual punishment is. He turns to Marcia.

“Kneel.” He barks. She glares at him. He feels like screaming at her, this is no time for her foolish pride, her life is on the line. “Get on your knees!” Still she doesn’t respond. Please don’t make me do this to you he thinks to himself, but she does.

Esca slaps her hard, and as she stumbles he is upon her. “Do it!” He screams in her face, and she does, bending one knee at a time. It almost breaks him to see her so, head bowed in almost grief, face carefully blank. His arm finds a grip in her hair, and he turns to the warrior she cut. A pretty scar it will make too he thinks.

“If it pleases you.” He speaks, but the Seal Prince cuts him off.

“Wait, you are the guest here, there is no need for you to lose property. Would a night with the Roman girl satisfy you Brother?” he asks the painted warrior.

“Aye.” At the man’s response the Seal chief turns back to Esca.

“She is you property. You choose. Her death, or would you be willing to share?”

For a moment, Esca cannot move, he can barely think. All he can see is his mother kneeling before his father. Just as Marcia kneels before him now. But in the end he is a coward, he cannot lose Marcia, even if it means her ultimate dishonor, a fate worse then death. He shoves her forward, with a jerk.

“Take her.” He shrugs.

“Get off me!” Marcia shrieks, “Esca! Esca! Help! Get off!” Her curses patter off. She’s facing him now, strong arms wrapped around her, pinning her. She didn’t beg for her life, she is utterly unafraid of death, but she’s scared now, and it’s showing. She shouldn’t be like this, she should be angry.

“Don’t struggle.” He tells her. He doesn’t know how his voice is so cold. “It will only make it worse.” She is being dragged backwards now.

“Esca. Please.” She beseeches him. There are tears in her eyes now, but he can’t because he is a coward. A coward when his family lived, and a coward now because he can’t kill the closest thing he has left to family. So he turns away, even as she lets out one last shriek of “Esca!”

When she is shoved into his room the next morning she is covered in bruises, and one of her eyes is so swollen she can’t see. Oh gods, he did this. When he reaches out to touch in comfort, she shies away from him, her mask slipping and fear sliding through. She is almost unrecognizable to him now, hair matted, dressed in a coarse dress, one shoulder bare, revealing even more bruises.

“I thought I told you not to struggle.”

“I didn’t.” she whispers back, her voice is hoarse.

After that something is definitely different within her. Esca can see she has not resigned herself to slavery, certainly not, but it’s as if the world is darker to her now. Where before people were people, she now sees only the potential darkness in them. Even Children, Children were children, but now they are potential warriors who would grow to hurt her. She has seen the darkness in people and now it is all she can see, and Esca did that to her, because he was selfish. He was selfish and he couldn’t lose her, and he hates himself every day for it.

Still there is hope. The winter is long, and some how somewhere along the way some one has found her talent for weaving. He finds her one-day before bed singing quietly at a small lap loom as if she were back in her uncle’s villa. She is so concentrated on her work that she doesn’t notice he has settled at her side for a few moments. For a few moments, at least, he gets to see her slight smile, or the occasional squint as a piece frustrates her. When she does see him she pulls back, and asks if he needs anything quietly. She doesn’t use a title but neither does she use his name. To see your smile, he wants to say, but instead he just shakes his head and motions to the bed.

Slowly as everyone is forced inside more every day as the snows come, the silences grow more comfortable between them. Although they still don’t talk Marcia no longer shies away from him.

One day, on the rare day when it isn’t snowing, Esca finds her outside, watching the sun rise, sparkling, over the ocean, wrapped in both a cloak she made, and a fur drape he had caught and skinned for her. Esca makes sure his footprints are loud on the fallen snow as he approaches, and settles comfortably next to her, gazing out at the sparkling ocean and rocky coast, content to just be. He knows Marcia has about three seconds before another woman comes out and scolds her for not starting the cooking fires.

“I understand now.” Marcia mutters, her voice nearly making Esca jump out of his skin. “Why your father did what he did.” She falls silent for another moment, as if gathering courage. “But I have found there is also honor to be had in life,” her hands fumble for a moment, until the eagle her father carved for her emerges. “and honor in service.” And she places the carving, worn from years of handling at his feet. “Perhaps I am not an eagle but a hunting hawk, one who always returns to her master’s hand.” With that final declaration she is gone, away to do who knows what.

Esca knows she’s right, although maybe not a hawk, nor an eagle, she is still a bird of prey. A huntress, meant to fly free, and this little village is stifling her. Soon he wants to tell her, soon they will have the eagle and they can be gone. He knows the villagers have it just not where. He hardly even feels the slightest bit of guilt. The Seal people are not his people, and although he has appreciated the hospitality they have shown him he really has no home anymore, his tribe and its lands are long dead. Except perhaps a home with Marcia, if she will take him back. She might be an Eagle needing to fly free, but he is a hound, and his home is his loyalty to her.

Spring comes soon enough, and with it the induction of the new warriors of the clan. Neither Esca nor Marcia will be participating in this. Well Esca will but no one knows he will. Marcia as well as every slave woman in the camp will stay as far away from the violent men so crazed on something they see gods, as is possible. Well Marcia thinks she will, Esca has other plans.

Esca wakes her up with a hand over her mouth, from where she’s half dozing against a hill far from camp with all the other women.

“Marcia, It’s me.” He hisses, as she panics for about half a second at his touch. She relaxes but not much. He doesn’t have time for that, and shoves a sword in her face. “Take it. We have to move quickly, while they’re still asleep.”

The confusion that turns to relief on her face is the sweetest thing he’s ever seen.

“Esca, I thought I’d lost you.” And then she kisses him.

It’s over all to quickly for his taste. She pulls back, already transforming from slave to competent soldier. Dragging him dazed and light headed off the ground, slinging the sword around her waist, and tucking the hem of the skirt they’d forced her to wear into her belt. Her back is pulling straighter then he’s seen in months, and her focus is deadly sharp. She motions sharply with her head for him to lead the way, and they’re off. Two deadly hunters, a hound an eagle, on the hunt together once more.

When they flee with the eagle, Marcia feels much more like a rat fleeing a cat then a great huntress. At least she killed the bastard who took her father’s ring. It flashes on her finger occasionally as they ride hard south. It should be a mark of pride, but after what the seal chieftain had said, she doesn’t know what to think, and each flash of the jewel is making her stomach drop.

“Stop.” Esca orders, as he bandages up her leg.

“Stop what?”

“Stop thinking. Your father was not a coward. The chieftain lied.”

“Esca, how can you possibly-“

“I don’t know, but I refuse to believe that a woman as brave, as courageous, as-, as-, as, stupidly recklessly rashly fearless as you could ever come from such a man.” Esca pauses hauling Marcia to her feet. “And even if your father was a coward, who gives a bloody fuck. You are not your father, screw your father!” He shouts at the hills. “You are ten times what he will ever be. You are-“

“Shut up, Esca.” Marcia’s voice is quiet, and at first Esca thinks she’s angry. But when he turns from where he’s ranting at the wide sky, he isn’t sure what he sees. Her face is almost broken, but the way she’s looking at him, it takes his breath away.

This time she kisses him. Despite the fact that they’re both utterly disgusting, drained, and weary, it is the best kiss he’s every received. After she pulls back, with a gasping breath, she grips his hair tightly and stares straight into his eyes, as if all the secrets of the universe are in there.

“You are not your father either Esca. You had a million chances to leave my arrogant self to my well-deserved idiotic fate, but you didn’t, you came back for me. Always. So you know what we’re going to do now?”

“We’re going to live. Marcia. We’re going to live.” Esca replied, cupping her wind reddened cheeks in his hands.

“We are. Our fathers were too bloody stupid to do so, so we’re going to ride hard, and live. Now get us out of my stupid mess, my hound.”

“Always my eagle.” And so as his lady commands he does.

At first they move quickly, but the seal clan, knowing the area better slowly gains ground. Then the horses die, one after the other, and Esca his heart breaking slits their throats. Even Marcia usually ruthlessly impenetrable in her goals has to set her face against the sight.

Then they run out of food, and Esca brings her a rat. Marcia thinks about protesting, but holds her tongue, she is determined to live damn it. Instead she mutters something under her breath about her hound turning into a cat, and swallows. Esca snaps back that he couldn’t get raw fish as eagles prefer. Marcia shuts up after that, but curls up in apology against Esca’s side in the few hours of sleep they get. She wakes to Esca’s arms around her.

Eventually her body gives out. She is beyond freezing, but her leg hurts so much the pain is flaring through the numbness.

Of course, Esca, stupid, stupid, man that he is refuses to save himself.

“I order you. Do you hear me! I order you Esca. Take the eagle back to my uncle. He’ll-“

“After all you said, you’re still going to die a Roman, for that bloody Eagle! Marcia-“

“It’s not about that you stupid fool. I can’t go on, so you’re going to live, instead. And I’ll be damned if I let those stupid overgrown fish men have the Eagle.” Then quieter, her hand reaching out to touch Esca’s face. “Please Esca. I love you. Please don’t die.” Esca kneels down in front of where she’s leaning against a rock. His right hand tangling through her wet hair.

“You want me to leave you? Free me.”

“Esca what-“

“If I’m going to leave the woman I love, let me do it of my own free will.”

“Esca” Marcia’s voice is deadly serious now, and he can feel her freezing hands grasp his shirt and tug him closer. “You’ve been free since the moment you came back to me.” One of her hands slips into her waistband to slide the knife into his hand. “Here. You’re free. Now give me that.” She hisses before yanking down his free hand, and sliding her father’s ring onto his finger.

“What-“ but then the hand still tangled in his shirt grabs him down for another kiss, this one fierce and desperate.

“I would give that to you at our wedding, Esca Mac Cunoval, but as I can’t-“ suddenly she finds Esca shoving his knife back in her hand.

“You will. As I will give this to you. I swear it. I will return. We will both live, Marcia Flavia Aquila.” They don’t kiss again. Instead their eyes meet, and Marcia nods, she accepts his promise, and Esca stands, resolve strengthening his frame, before with one last look he turns and disappears down the gully and into the mists.

When Esca returns with Guern and the other lost legionaries the battle is short and fierce, and at the end they are both alive. Marcia much less so then Esca, although Esca doesn’t come away entirely unscathed either, there is a gash along his right arm.

The walk home is mostly done in comfortable silence, their fingers interlocked more often then not. It is a peace tinged with sadness. They are both much older some how. The solitude of northern Britain is welcome, it brings focus, just on to the two of them. Esca finds it enhances Marcia’s beauty in some indescribable way. Perhaps it is the way the weak golden enchanted sunlight catches in her hair, finding bits of color, or maybe how sometimes he finds her at the edges of bluffs, the wind catching in her clothes as if she will fly away, or perhaps embrace all the rolling hills in front of her in her outstretched arms.

When they do speak, it is serious, but neither of the past or the future. Time seems to be suspended somehow, they are just glad to be alive.

They pass the wall without comment, the eagle hidden in the cloth strapped to Marcia’s back. Suddenly time seems to rush forward again.

“What now?” Esca asks one night, when Marcia leans against his chest, both of them staring into the fire. She shifts comfortably against him, turning her head to look into his face. The small space between them a warm intimate cocoon.

“We bring the Eagle to Rome, I suppose.” She shrugs, it seems unimportant; they have each other.

“And then?” Esca asks patiently, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ll tell them to shove it, and go where we please.” Marcia replies, the firelight making her smirk seem positively devilish. Esca smirks back.

Uncle Aquila is very pleased to see them, or at the very least Marcia, alive. It takes one look for him to know their sleeping together, and his snow white eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline, before turning to Esca.

“She get all the foolishness out of her system Boy?” Esca says nothing merely turning with a slight smile to Marcia.

“Well not all Uncle.” Marcia replies, before removing the eagle from her back and placing it on the table between them. Uncle Aquila’s eyebrows really do disappear at that.

“Well done my niece. Well done indeed.” His voice is quiet and even, but its edges are tinted with happiness.

“There is one more thing Uncle.” Marcia continues, interlocking her fingers with Esca’s, the sun catching in her father’s ring around Esca’s finger, and gazing into Esca’s face, before turning with a sweet smile to her uncle.

“I think a spring wedding will be lovely. Welcome to the family Esca.”

Uncle Aquila doesn’t accompany them to deliver the Eagle to the senators, it is their victory alone. Instead of feeling like she’s on top of the world when the two of them stride side by side through the columns and scattering underlings to the Governor, Marcia feels only grim satisfaction. They should move out of the way, she thinks venomously, they were nothing, how did she ever care what they thought. She had Esca, and she made her own damn honor.

“Here,” she struck them with her words, Esca placing the Eagle on the table abruptly, “Here is your Eagle.” And then she chuckles quietly. “Your honor is restored by a Britain and his wife.” She throws them a smart salute, mocking in its perfection. Esca flashes them one of his wolf smiles, and they are gone.

“Where to, my hound?”

“Well I hear there’s to be a big wedding up in Calleva, but after that, well wherever the wind takes us my Eagle.”


End file.
